


angelitos

by astrangepurplefairy



Series: maddie’s trash writing [5]
Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Bad New York accents, Canon Era, First Meet, Hispanic spot, M/M, i can’t tag but what else is new, race makes spot smile, so is race bc he’s jack’s second, spot is in training to be the next Brooklyn leader, sprace, they’re both smol children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-26 03:40:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19759846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrangepurplefairy/pseuds/astrangepurplefairy
Summary: race and spot meet for the first time





	angelitos

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to my trash writing gang!!  
> just sprace’s first meeting bc why not  
> enjoy!!

Spot first met Racetrack Higgins when he was seven, and soft, and not the King of Brooklyn. Not yet.

“Richie.” Jack Kelly said, with all of his thirteen year old swagger. Jack had been leading the Manhattan newsies for just six months now, since Red died, and already had what Spot had learned was a “bad reputation”. He wasn’t sure what was so bad about it when he saw the respect Jack was given.

“Kelly.” Richie replied plainly, and nudged Spot’s shoulder with his forearm. Spot only came up to maybe Richie’s rib cage, but still, the shove made him feel smaller. “This is Spot Conlon, my up-and-coming.”

Jack shouldered a lanky, blue-eyed boy with a curly mop of blonde hair forward, face impassive. The boy couldn’t have been more than eight, but he was tall as Jack, with a cocky smirk on his face that made him seem older. There was a yellowing bruise on the left side of his jaw, and a healing cut on his cheekbone. He still managed to look like he owned the world. “This is Racetrack Higgins.” Jack said plainly, either not caring enough to add that Racetrack was his up-and-coming or figuring it was a given.

Racetrack met Spot’s eyes, hands in his pockets, and his smirk widened. “Youse named Spot?” He chuckled.

Spot raised a brow. “Youse named  _Racetrack_?” He said, with equal if not exceeding skepticism.

Racetrack just tossed his head back and laughed, and Spot watched him. He looked a little bit like what Spot had imagined when his mom explained the young angels in heaven.  _Angelitos_ , she’d said, with a soft smile.  _Con rizos rubios y sonrisas brillantes_. That was what Racetrack seemed to be. Even with the bruises and cuts and smirk, he looked like sunshine.

Jack tugged Racetrack back by the collar, still staring Richie down, and Racetrack shut his mouth. “What was we called here for, Richie?” Jack asked, shoulders squaring.

“Youse new.” Richie said plainly, and stared Jack down. Richie was only fifteen, just two years older than Jack, but to Spot he was eight feet fall and twenty-five years old and smarter than all of Brooklyn put together. “Call it checkin’ in on a pal.”

Jack crossed his arms. “Don’ play wit’ me, Richie. What’s goin’ on?”

Richie echoed Jack’s position, and Spot saw Racetrack’s eyes flash to Jack worriedly. “Blues caught a boy o’ yours at the Sheepshead, day before last. I didn’ think nun’ of it, figured he was jus’ watching. But he was hawking today.”

Jack stepped forward. “‘N who was this?” He asked. His face was too old to be thirteen, Spot thought idly. He had the look of an adult, of someone who’d seen things and known what they were.

Richie chewed on his toothpick and jerked his chin towards Racetrack, who was now trying to make himself look as small and uninteresting as possible. “Him.”

Jack turned on Racetrack with fury in his eyes, and promptly cuffed the boy on the back of the head. Racetrack hissed. “Is your brain busted up, Race?” Jack snarled. “You knows Brooklyn been off limits.”

Race didn’t say anything, just kept his head down, cheeks red.

“What’s wrong wit’ him selling at Sheepshead?” Spot asked Richie.

Richie, in turn, cuffed Spot on the back of the head. “Because he’s on our turf, kid.”

Spot rubbed the back of his head.

“But I know the Sheepshead!” Race interjected, and snapped his teeth like a dog when Jack smacked him in the head again.

“Shut ya mouth, Racer.” Jack said sharply.

Richie shifted. “What you mean, you know the Sheepshead?” The question was directed straight to Race.

“I grew up ‘round there.” Race said, doing all he could to look brave, it seemed. “I know that track, know how t’ sell there, know how’s it goes on. The peoples there is special, and I knows how t’ sell t’ them.”

Spot watched him as he spoke. He had a fire in his words that wasn’t present in his face when he spoke. The cocky coolness of his expression balanced the emotions in each syllable, like water balancing fire and earth balancing air.

Race met his eyes for a second, and even though Jack was fuming and Richie was cold like a statue, Spot wanted to smile as their gazes joined.

“He goes nowhere ‘cept the tracks and his main route back to ‘Hattan, you hear me?” Richie said lowly, pointing a finger in Jack’s direction. Race lit up, eyebrows rising from their lowered position and lilting smirk appearing on his lips once more.

Jack spit in his palm and held his hand out.

Richie did the same.

They shook on it, and Spot met Race’s eyes again, blue and bright. And Spot actually let himself smile when Race’s nose scrunched up and his tongue stuck out between his teeth, the picture of joy.

It was Spot’s first grin in a while

**Author's Note:**

> that’s it y’all i think it’s cute actually  
> leave kudos and comments if you wanna validate me?? :)  
> love you!  
> <333


End file.
